


Moments of Grace

by lesbianneptune



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/F, Fluff, One Shot, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianneptune/pseuds/lesbianneptune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of glimpses into Fang and Vanille's life as they grow up in Oerba.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments of Grace

You are five years old and unprecedently alone. You arrive at the orphanage, tight beneath the wing of a matron, firm but understanding words ringing in your ears. You cannot think, only put one foot in front of the other. You see her, stood by the entrance, being scolded, wildfire in her eyes. Jaw set. It’s a reassurance, a comfort. In her is the bravery you want to see in yourself.

You are seven now and still small for your age, but your maturity surprises them all. The orphanage is overcrowded and beds are to be shared and the girl with wildfire eyes is lying next to you, curled into a ball, foetal. The sounds of war overhead blocked out by the dreams of youth. You are jealous – you haven’t slept properly since you came here – but as she snuffles slightly in her sleep, you cannot begrudge her this luxury. After all, you’re friends now.

At nine, the pain is still there but it’s dulled, faded. Memories of a family you once had are etched into the back of your mind, but if you keep moving forwards, the past no longer pricks at your eyes, no longer makes the tips of your fingers tremble in fear and regret. You have a new family now, she says. I am your family now. As she grins and pushes a tangled knot of dark hair behind her ear, you feel a jolt of happiness. The first you’ve felt in four long years.

Eleven and you are her shadow and she is your guard. The boys that used to relentlessly tease you back away now, and your popularity has increased sevenfold. But the matron has yelled at you and you are crying over your cereal, ever afraid to disappoint, ever afraid to let them down. Her eyes meet yours and you see concern for the first time. She doesn’t say anything, simply wraps gangly arms around you and pulls you close. Her breath on your ear is warm, familiar. She doesn’t let go until the bell rings for morning prayers.

When you’re thirteen, she’s fifteen, and she’s changing. Once all long limbs and scraped elbows, she’s now hips and thighs and breasts. She’s still lanky, of course, but as she undresses in front of you the fuzzy feeling of embarrassment and curiosity enflames your senses. You flinch, trying not to look, worried you’ll alert her of your interest but she laughs in response, loud and uncaring. You can look at me Vanille, she reassures, you don’t need to be afraid of me. You are not afraid of her, but of your gently flowering feelings, of the way you want to reach out and touch her naked skin.

Three years later and you are atop one of Oerba’s hills, lying on your back, listening to the gentle buzz of insects. It’s been a difficult day for the both of you. She leaves in the morning, for a hunting trip that will define her career prospects in the future. She’s an adult now and you still feel like a child, still clinging to the carefree hope that you can remain like this for all eternity. Her arm is draped around you, lazy in its complacency, and you’re talking softly, poignantly about how it might hurt to be apart. You don’t know, you realise, whether it will or not because you've never tried it before. You choke back a sob and suddenly she’s propped up on her elbows and her thumbs are holding your cheeks. You forget your tears as she kisses you.

Adulthood hits you square on. You've escaped the clutches of the matrons and have fallen into the hands of unguided maturity, a sea of bad decisions and lost causes. Your cheerful nature still covers the cracks in your façade where fear slips through, where sadness and memories and sheer reality cloud your clear skies. It is she and only she that sees beneath this skin, this armour, this shell that surrounds your very being. And she is beautiful. Her hands, callused with the toils of work, rest with an atypical softness on your hips. Her eyes, wildfire, stare into yours and you see her every emotion flicker through them; affection, happiness, anticipation, lust, love. A mirror of your own. Your fear dissipates into adrenaline as those hands work at your clothing. Those hands that have held you since you were a girl, hands that wiped away your tears, hands that helped teach you to tie your shoelaces. Now they are unfastening the catches of your clothes, fumbling over the back of your breastband. Perhaps for the first time, you feel truly free of the worries that have plagued you for as long as you can remember. You lean into her kiss and she stops suddenly, her eyes silently asking. You almost laugh. For one so careless, you’ve always been the exception. You’ve feared the world for so long but in that moment a spark inside yourself knows that she’d never hurt you. So you let yourself go, lost in her heat, her touch, her scent. She promises you, breathlessly, that she’ll never let you be alone, never stop protecting you. Those hands tangle in your hair and then run the course of your body, exploring. Under the stars, in her arms, you feel safe.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fanfiction, so it'd be nice to get some feedback. Thanks for reading. (:


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